


The Shadow Nemesis

by ArissAvion



Series: Shadow of Mars [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (not between the main pairings), Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bottom Draco, Charismatic Draco, Dark Harry, Death Eaters Run Hogwarts, Demon Summoning, Durmstrang, Dystopia, First Kiss, Hogwarts Third Year, Jealous Harry, Jealous Theo, M/M, Plot, Possessive Harry, Powerful Harry, Pureblood Supremacy, Romance, Teenage Death Eaters, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Top Harry, Voldemort Wins, Wandless Magic, prepare yourself for an explosion of gay adolescent angst, the year of puberty is finally here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 09:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14234406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArissAvion/pseuds/ArissAvion
Summary: The year is 1993, the Dark Lord has transformed the wizarding world into a dismal dystopia, and magic is evolving and spiraling out of control. Physically and mentally scarred from two years at an authoritarian Hogwarts, Harry attends Durmstrang as an exchange student with Draco for his third year. But Durmstrang is a school even more brutal than Hogwarts, and something demonic is stirring in its depths.Something that wants Harry.





	The Shadow Nemesis

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: THIS IS THE THIRD BOOK IN A SERIES. Start with "The Shadow Lord," or you will probably have zero idea what is going on.
> 
> Now that I've cleared that up, welcome back! I'm so happy to be writing Year 3 at last!
> 
> Just a few notes: I apologize beforehand for butchering foreign languages and accents. As a general rule of thumb, most dialogue will be in English, even if the person speaking is not speaking in English.
> 
> Also, the "Rape/Non-Con" warning has been removed for all three books, though I have kept warnings in the additional tags. This is because there hasn't been a rape yet, and I don't want to lull anyone into a false sense of security. There WILL be actual rape in future books, and it will be very clear in the warnings which books those are. Sorry! You might want to stop reading now instead of later if this is too much for you. It will get MUCH worse. :(

**CHAPTER ONE**

**THE PULSE**

**o**

Draco cut into his _oeufs en meurette,_ wishing with great fervor that he could be literally anywhere else.

“Ah yes, eet is quite a… ‘ow do you say eet? Quite a _conundrum,”_ the French Minister of Magic, Gaspard Durieux, was saying to Lucius over his _coq au vin_. “The rebels are covering their tracks well.”

Draco was at a stupid charity lunch full of French Purebloods, surrounded by the sounds of clinking cutlery and warm chatter. Two years since being conquered, rebellion still festered in France, which meant that Minister Durieux had his work cut out for him. Lucius had made a massive donation to the French Ministry of Magic, and now the Malfoys and the Durieuxes sat at the same circular table, discussing politics.

As Durieux attempted to weasel some more money out of Lucius, Narcissa engaged in polite small-talk with Durieux’s third husband Apollinaire, who was half his age. Sylvain Durieux, on the other hand, had spent the entire meal staring at Draco. Draco spotted some sauce dribbling down the other boy’s chin, and curled his lip.

_How uncouth._

“So, you’ll be heading into fourth year at Beauxbatons, right?” Draco asked.

Sylvain spluttered, coughed, and dropped his fork. Apollinaire shot him a scathing look before returning to his conversation with Narcissa.

“ _Non_ ,” Sylvain stammered, wiping his chin hastily. “I go to Durmstrang. Papa deedn’t want me studying with Mudbloods at Beauxbatons. We are cleaning them out now, but eet will take some time.”

Draco nodded sympathetically. “I expect the situation’s dangerous right now as well. Father said the rebels are blowing stuff up all over the place, really going all out.” He glanced around, half-expecting some crazed Mudblood to pop out from underneath the table and start throwing hexes. Britain had been purged so many years ago that it was hard to imagine that there were still places in the world where Mudbloods existed in large quantities.

“Eet is safe here,” Sylvain assured him, ducking his head. “We ‘ave the best security.”

“Oh, I’m not scared. Everything will settle down in a few years anyway. That’s how it happened in Britain,” Draco said with a careless wave of his hand, mimicking how Lucius was gesturing at Minister Durieux a few chairs away.

Then Draco lowered his hand, wondering what Harry would think if he saw Draco sitting here among Purebloods, claiming that a “settled” situation in France would resemble the situation in Britain, where Harry and other half-bloods lived as second-class citizens.

“Yes, I theenk zat the Dark Lord will have eet all under control soon,” said Sylvain, jerking Draco out of his thoughts.

There was a long and awkward silence after that. Draco searched for something to say, wishing that Sylvain was a more interesting conversation partner.

“I’ll be at Durmstrang this term, you know,” Draco said, in flawless French.

Sylvain’s jaw dropped. “ _Parlez-vous français?_ ”

“Fluently,” Draco said. “I’m still working on German.”

“Oh? If you want, I can teach you when you come to Durmstrang,” said Sylvain in a rush. He swallowed, his heartbeat fluttering in his throat, and Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said instead, still in French, wiping daintily at his mouth with a serviette. “I might take you up on your offer.”

_I might kill you if I have to suffer another minute of this dreadful conversation._

Draco checked his watch with no small amount of desperation. It was only five minutes until one o’clock; not even two hours had passed since the charity lunch had begun, and he still had another hour of this torture left to endure.

“I was wondering,” Sylvain continued, blushing harder than ever, “if you wanted to, uh, meet some other time this summer. I think we could become great friends.”

 _Oh, I’m sure all he has in mind is friendship._ “Send me an owl,” Draco said in pretty French, fluttering his lashes and giving Sylvain the sweetest smile he could muster. He would, of course, chuck all letters he received from the other boy straight into the fire. Sylvain wasn’t cute enough to make up for his utter lack of personality.

“Ah, yes,” said Lucius, taking interest in Draco’s conversation for the first time that day. “Wouldn’t a correspondence between our sons be ideal, Gaspard?”

Draco deflated.

Minister Durieux, on the other hand, swelled with excitement. _“Oui, oui!_ Zey are getting along so well!” He wiggled his eyebrows, jabbing an elbow into his son’s side. _“Too_ well, perhaps? Sylvain is going to debut next month; Apollinaire and I are looking at courtship offers right now.”

Sylvain’s entire face went the color of the meat sauce on his plate. Lucius chuckled, winking at Draco, and Draco wondered where his father had acquired such an atrocious sense of humor.

Fortunately, Narcissa chose that moment to come to his rescue. “Debutante balls require an appalling amount of advance planning. I have nightmares about choosing the color scheme for Draco’s, and it’s a whole year away. How have you managed so far, Apollinaire?”

Apollinaire launched into a speech on how he’d hired a team of the best party planners in France, a speech nobody found very interesting. Draco checked his watch again.

 _One minute to one o’clock._ Damn it.

It was noon in Britain. What was Harry doing right now? Draco had sent him about half a dozen letters since term had ended two weeks ago, and they talked every night on the Thread Spheres when Draco’s parents were asleep. His mother had noticed his secretive behavior, he could tell, but she hadn’t said anything. And Lucius had been too preoccupied giving him the silent treatment lately— disappointed by Draco’s mediocre Initiate Tournament results—to care about anything he was doing..

Draco fidgeted as the conversation shifted back to politics, trying to find something to do with his hands now that he’d finished his meal. During their conversation on the Thread Spheres last night, Harry had mentioned that today was the summer solstice, the day Chaos would have risen out of his body if not for Synesis’s sacrifice. And now Draco couldn’t help but think that there was an unsettling current beneath the cool, bright ambience of the lunch hall.

“Draco, what’s your opinion on the matter?”

Draco straightened up, cheeks flushing dully. His father was pursing his lips at him over the table, and Draco knew he’d been caught zoning out. “Um.”

A muscle twitched in Lucius’s jaw.

Durieux smacked a hand on the table, chuckling good-naturedly. “Lucius, you know what boys hees age are like, heads always in ze clouds—”

“Papa,” Sylvain cut in, “do you hear zat?”

Then Draco heard it: the sound of earth screeching over metal, of the world shifting and reassembling itself. The sound ripped into his eardrums, sent him to the floor writhing and screaming. Sylvain and every other child in the hall dropped with him, and the happy chatter at the charity lunch ground to a halt.

***

Theo rolled to the ground, holding onto his wand with the last shred of his strength. Dirt went flying behind his shoes, splattered the back of his robes. Sebastian loomed above him, wand raised, grinning like the Grim come to collect.

_“Imperio.”_

Theo lay there with a blithe smile as all his worries melted away. He felt… happy. He hadn’t felt happy for such a long time, and it was so nice to lie here, to do nothing.

 _Break your wand._ Theo heard the voice from some dim, distant corner of his clouded brain, and he lifted his wand and observed it lazily.

 _Break it? Why?_ Another voice joined the first. _Don’t you need it? It’s stupid to break it._

 _Break your wand,_ the first voice repeated, more insistently now.

 _NO,_ said the second voice, far louder than the first, and the cobwebs in his head cleared, blown away by the force of his dissent. Theo jerked upright, the back of his robes slick with mud.

“You bastard,” Theo gasped, clutching his stomach, fingers tight around his wand. “If you’d actually made me break—”

“I knew you’d be able to throw the spell off.” Sebastian studied his nails, looking bored. “Anyway, it’s not like we can’t buy you a new one.”

Theo struggled to his feet, still panting. He, Sebastian, and Nathaniel were practicing spells out in the Nott gardens, watched over by their father, who stood by the massive wall that enclosed the estate. Oscar Nott cast a forbidding shadow over the grass, a shadow somehow taller and darker than the wall’s itself.

Theo swallowed, raising his wand. “Let’s go again. I technically didn’t lose.” _This time, I’ll beat you. I’ll beat you better than Potter ever did._

“No, Theodore.”

Theo jumped. His father’s voice sounded closer than he’d expected, and when he spun around, Oscar stood at his shoulder. The lines of his aging face appeared harsher in the noon light; at this angle, he almost looked more hideous than the twins.

“Sebastian duels Nathaniel next,” said Oscar, turning to head back to the wall and gesturing for Theo to follow him. So Theo did, dragging his feet. Behind him, he heard Nathaniel haul himself up from his spot by a hedge wall of rose bushes, heard Sebastian’s humorless chuckle as he faced his twin.

The duel began with a flash of multicolored light. Theo leaned against the wall, head turned down, watching countless spells skitter over and sputter out on the grass so that he didn’t have to watch his brothers. They dueled nonverbally, except when they had to shout out the occasional _Crucio,_ of course _._ Only the Dark Lord could pull off nonverbal and wandless Unforgivables.

“Their duels have gotten nastier and nastier,” observed Oscar as Nathaniel shot an _Avada Kedavra_ at Sebastian’s moving form and just barely missed, and Sebastian shot one right back, only for it to fly over Nathaniel’s ducking head, singing his hair as it went. Theo could never tell if they missed on purpose. “Are they fighting these days, Theodore?”

“I don’t know.” Theo had also never been able to tell whether Nathaniel and Sebastian hated each other more than they hated Theo.

Oscar hummed under his breath. “You did well today, throwing off the Imperius. But not well enough. I expect significant improvement from you when I return from my mission.”

“You’re… you’re going on a mission?” Theo asked, curious despite himself. No wonder his father was in such a good mood.

Oscar hummed again. “Yes, to the lovely French countryside. The Dark Lord requests my assistance in holding the Muggle family of Augustin Arsenault hostage. That Mudblood’s getting to be quite a problem, you know. He’s taken out a troubling amount of our fighters, but my… _expertise_ should keep him docile from now on. I expect he’ll surrender for his family by the end of the month.”

Listening to this made something ache in Theo. After all this time, his father remained at the Dark Lord’s beck and call. Many of the original Inner Circle Death Eaters—the ones who’d aided the Dark Lord before he’d come to power—had left the battlefield to recline in lives of luxury, to raise children and throw extravagant parties. The Dark Lord had amassed an army numbering in the thousands by now; there was little need for him to call an old man like Oscar Nott.

 _But Father never wanted to stop fighting._ Oscar was so devoted to the cause, to the Dark Lord, and Theo envied that. His father was possessed by a purpose so all-consuming that any distraction sent him flying into a rage. Theo wondered what it would be like to live such an uncomplicated life. A life where he loved nothing but the Dark Lord, where everything else in it fell by the wayside, shriveled up due to neglect.

Theo wished he could live so simply, but he couldn’t. Not that he wasn’t devoted to the Dark Lord. He _was_ —he was surer about the Dark Lord than he was about anything else, so much so that he repeated the Skull anthem to anchor himself. It calmed his nerves to be reminded that he was nothing compared to a god, that he existed only to further a noble cause. He’d been so stressed out for the past two years, so miserable after losing Draco to Potter, so full of loathing for everyone, that sometimes he’d whispered the anthem before bed to make himself go to sleep.

 _I’m a devoted weapon of the Dark Lord. Nothing else. It doesn’t matter that Draco doesn’t want me,_ he’d murmur. _Nothing matters but breaking, shattering, and destroying those who defy my Lord._ But infuriatingly, Draco still mattered. And Theo didn’t think he’d ever stop mattering.

A scream echoed around the garden, signaling the duel’s end. Nathaniel was writhing on his back, Sebastian standing victorious over him.

“The Cruciatus,” murmured Oscar as Theo grunted noncommittally. “A unique style of fighting. I’ll give him that.” He didn’t mention how unusual it was to use _Crucio_ in battle, that the spell required too much energy, too much hatred, to be used in times of stress. But Sebastian, who whipped out the curse about ten times a day, hardly broke into a sweat.

“It time for a quick _Scourgify_ and lunch, I believe,” Oscar continued, striding forward to call the twins. Theo followed, gaze still fixed on the grass. “You all have free time for an hour. We’ll resume this at one o’clock.”

Sebastian and Nathaniel fell into step beside Theo, both now covered in mud. It had rained yesterday, and the ground squelched unpleasantly beneath their shoes.

“Father’s going on a mission,” Theo said, waiting until Oscar had walked out of earshot.

“So that’s why he’s in a good mood,” Nathaniel said.

“Good fucking riddance,” Sebastian said. “How long?”

Theo shrugged. “He’s going to France to deal with a Mudblood rebel’s family. I’d wager he’ll be gone for at least a month. _Scourgify.”_

Sebastian gave that humorless chuckle again. “Father’ll _enjoy_ that.” He made a crude hand gesture at Theo, who paled. “What a pious man our father is, fucking Muggles in his spare time. I wonder how many dirty-blood bastards he’s spawned.”

 _“Stop_ it,” Theo said, bile rising up his throat.

“Nah, most of the Muggles he fucks are too young to spawn anything.” Nathaniel grinned, knowing exactly how to drive Theo over the edge.

“But we shouldn’t be too harsh on poor, lonely Father,” Sebastian went on. “He’d fuck cute little Purebloods if he could. You’ve noticed how he looks at Draco, haven’t you, Theo? Father’s wanted him for _years._ He won’t ever touch him, though. He’s too much of a coward. Like you.”

Sebastian burst into hysterical laughter as Theo fled, sprinting over the back stairs into the manor. Then his laughter turned into howls of mirth, joined by Nathaniel’s. Theo ignored them, making his way into the dining hall, fists clenched and trembling. Oscar was already sitting at the head of the table. Mopsy, one of their house-elves, popped over to serve him a glistening whole chicken.

Theo sat down, unable to look at him. Sebastian and Nathaniel came crashing into the dining hall a minute later, still sniggering, and plopped down opposite of Theo.

“You boys took your time,” Oscar said lightly.

“We were cleaning up,” Theo muttered as Mopsy handed him a plate of roast beef.

“We’re right on time,” Nathaniel said. “It’s not even noon yet.”

Theo clenched his fingers around the handle of his fork. He’d owl Lucius Malfoy later tonight and ask if he could sleep over at Malfoy Manor for a few weeks. He’d done it before. He couldn’t stay here alone with Sebastian and Nathaniel, in any case—they would toy with him all month, drive him mad with their mind games.

Damn it. Now he had a splitting headache. Some sort of noise was rattling around in his ears, getting louder and louder, more grating.

“Do you hear that?” Sebastian asked, serious for the first time that day.

Theo opened his mouth to answer, but then noon struck, and Theo, Sebastian, and Nathaniel all fell to the ground, crying out. The sound in Theo’s ears intensified to a piercing, impossible pitch—before going dead silent.

***

Lily was napping on the sofa by the wireless, emitting delicate little snores, when Harry came down to eat lunch. He stood and watched her for a second, studied the frizzy locks of her gray-streaked hair, the soft curve of her cheek. Despite her age, she almost looked like a little girl.

When he’d arrived on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, his hood pulled up to prevent lingering gazes, she’d dragged him towards her and tilted his head up. She’d stared at him for a while, more lucid than usual, then finally asked, “Did they break you?”

“No,” he’d said, coldly, and she’d smiled.

She hadn’t mentioned his scars since, and Harry was grateful. A normal mother would be fretting and doting over him, but Lily knew he could take everything the world threw at him. A childhood with her as his mother had given him a hard outer shell, after all.

Not wanting to wake her up, he whipped up a ham and cheese sandwich on his own and returned to his room, taking the steps two at a time. After throwing himself onto his unmade bed, he bit into the sandwich, spewing crumbs everywhere. It was a bright June day. Children were playing in the Muggle playground outside, and he could hear their laughter drifting in through his open window. Slowly, Harry finished his sandwich, licking his fingers to get the last of the cheese.

Then, as he always did whenever he got fidgety, he traced his scars, digging into the ridges and trying to smooth them out. As usual, nothing gave. These scars were unchanging, immovable, like mountain ranges forged over millions of years. Harry was struck with the urge to tear his own face off, to peel it away like the Skulls peeled away their skintight masks. Maybe there would be something better underneath.

_Anything would be better than this._

“I look like a troll, don’t you think?” Harry said to the tattered old book lying near his pillow, Synesis’s empty shell. He spoke to it a lot, mostly to keep himself from going mad, but also to pass the time between Draco’s calls on the Thread Sphere.

_Speaking of Draco, he’d probably think I’m already mad for talking to Synesis like it’s here with me._

Well, Harry could do whatever he wanted in his own home.

“Draco told me last night that he’s going to France.” Harry took the Thread Sphere out of his pocket and chucked it from palm to palm like it was some mini Quaffle. At least it kept his hands busy. “For some charity lunch. Death Eaters giving charity? Really? I mean, are you _serious?”_

He imagined Synesis’s exasperated but amused sigh, and closed his eyes, trying to keep his tears at bay.

“Like what is this ‘charity’ even for? The Dark Lord’s army?” Harry laughed at his own joke. He caressed the Thread Sphere, wishing he could call Draco right now and have an actual _conversation_. Synesis couldn’t respond to him, after all.

Would never be able to respond to him again.

“I’m really pathetic, aren’t I?” Harry laughed again. “I can’t… I can’t do anything without you. I need to talk to you.”

How was he going to stop Sebastian come spring term? How was he going to protect Draco when he couldn’t protect himself? _How, how, how?_ He couldn’t do it without Synesis.

Last summer, Harry had mourned the loss of his magic, had cried and moped and driven Synesis mad with all his whining. This summer, he would willingly give up his magic to bring Synesis back—or even to bring his old face back.

_Give and take. An equal exchange, just like the demons did with me and my mother._

Something roared in his ears at the thought, somehow managing to dizzy him and flood him with strength at the same time. Then the clock ticked over to noon and the noise peaked, ringing in his head like a siren. It felt like the Cruciatus Curse—but ten times worse. It _scalded_ the inside of his body, seared into him like hot knives, made him arch off his bed in agony and scream loud enough to wake Lily up downstairs.

Then it stopped, and Harry lay panting, spreadeagled. The air around him sparked with energy, as though he were in the center of an electric storm. The windows rattled, then shattered right on cue, scattering glass everywhere. Lazy currents circled him, skittered over the floor, fizzled out when they hit the wall.

The door banged open. Lily stood behind it, her face white as snow. And when he saw her face contort in rage, his own broke out into a smile.

His wandless magic was back.

***

 _A PULSE RIPPLES THROUGH THE WIZARDING WORLD,_ read the front page of _Daily Prophet._ Theo and Draco sat on Draco’s bed, in the midst of its billowing canopy.

Except the window wasn’t open.

“Can you stop doing that?” Draco asked.

The hangings stilled, and a blush rose on Theo’s cheeks. “Sorry. I’m not—I’m not used to it yet. I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

Draco sighed, flopping back on his pillows. The charity lunch had only been two days ago, though it seemed as though two years had gone by instead. At noon Greenwich time on June 21st,the Pulse—at least that was what the authorities were calling it—had rippled through the wizarding world, gifting all wizards and witches under the age of seventeen the ability to harness their intrinsic magic—without needing a wand to act as conduit.

That meant exactly what it sounded like: every underage wizard was now capable of wandless magic, and according to the papers, every magical government was in the middle of a full-out panic. The charity lunch had ended on a hysterical note; families had herded their children to the Floos after the Pulse, trying in vain to contain the newly freed magic flitting around the wrecked hall. Young children who hadn’t learned to use a wand yet had emerged relatively unscathed, but Draco’s magic had sprung from him like a caged animal set free and ended up shattering every fancy crystal plate on the table they were sitting at.

Or maybe Sylvain’s had shattered some. Draco didn’t know.

“What do you think it means?” Theo asked, throwing the newspaper aside and leaning back on the bed with Draco. They lay on their sides, facing each other. Theo had just arrived for an extended stay at Malfoy Manor, and Draco wasn’t sure how long he could handle being in the other boy’s presence.

“I dunno what it means. Nobody knows what it means.”

 _Chaos was supposed to rise on the solstice,_ Draco thought, his heart sinking. He and Harry had discussed this last night on the Thread Spheres. _The Pulse can’t be a coincidence. This, whatever it is, has to be connected to what happened on the Blood Moon._

Could they _all_ communicate with demons now? Did they all have the capability to summon? Thousands and thousands of years ago, ancient wizards had been able to access the demon realm, but the Summoning Arts had faded into obscurity after the era of modern wizards began—wizardkind since then had evolved to do magic by refining it into spells, forcing it through a wand.

Now, in the space of a minute, magic had regressed. The Pulse had dragged them back in time.

It couldn’t mean anything good.

“This undoes hundreds of years of magical theory,” Theo whispered. “I mean, I did some practicing yesterday, and I can still cast all the advanced spells I learned with my wand. But in order to cast without my wand, I can’t rely on my old methods. This type of magic isn’t as precise, see. It’s easier for me to imagine the effect of the spell now, construct it in real life, rather than focus on the spell itself.”

“Good for you,” Draco said bitterly. All he’d managed to do was crack his glass of chocolate milk this morning. He felt like he was five years old again, back in the days before he’d gotten his wand and with no idea how to control his wild magic.

“I could show you how to do it,” Theo said, curling closer to Draco on the bed, gaze beseeching. “Let’s try something easy first, like _Lumos._ Look. _”_

Soft light glowed from Theo’s fingertips at once, the threads of light all over his palm converging in its center. “See? Instead of just the tip of my wand, I can make my whole hand glow, and it’s the same simple spell. You try.”

“How? Do I think the word _Lumos_ in my head? _”_ Draco asked. “Do I imagine the wand movements or something, or imitate them with my hand?”

“No, no,” Theo said. “I didn’t move my hand, remember? I didn’t think the incantation either. That’s old magical theory. Before the Pulse, wandless magic used to be a level above normal magic. You’d have to be _really_ proficient at the spell _Lumos_ when using a wand, for example. The next natural step would have been nonverbal magic, then verbal but wandless magic—so you’d say the incantation out loud and imitate the wand movements with your wrist. The final step, and the hardest, would be nonverbal and wandless. That requires wrist movements and thinking the incantation. But that’s not necessary for us anymore. You just… you just have to _will_ whatever you want to happen, see it unfold in front of your eyes, and it’ll happen—doing this is the core of spellcasting, and now we don’t have to do all that extraneous stuff.”

Harry’s wandless magic had worked similarly in first year, Draco remembered with no small amount of jealousy. Damn it, why the hell was everyone so much more powerful than him? Draco took a second to thank Merlin that the Pulse hadn’t removed his ability to wield a wand, or he’d be in deep, deep trouble in all his classes next term.

“Try it, Draco. Imagine light spreading out from the center of your palm.”

“Oh, _fine._ If you insist.”

Theo threaded his light-infused fingers through Draco’s, smiling encouragingly. Draco closed his eyes in concentration. There was a spark of warmth in his right arm, but it died on the way to his hand.

“I saw your palm flicker,” said Theo. “You’re almost there!”

 _Stop speaking to me like I’m a small child,_ Draco thought. Then again, he supposed this new, overly friendly tone was better than Theo’s previous teaching method, which had included questions like, “How do you _not_ know how to do this?” and “Draco, are you even _trying_ right now? _”_

Draco scowled at the memory. Theo really had come a long way since the beginning of second year.

“What’s wrong?” Theo asked, noticing the scowl.

“Nothing. I’m just concentrating again.” A minute passed, maybe two. Draco’s teeth were gritted to the point of pain. _Just… think about the light. Will the light to appear, nothing else._

Warmth surged down his arm and through his fingertips, illuminating his hand with glittering light. Draco looked at it, yelped, and rolled around, almost smothering Theo in his frenzy. “It worked! Theo, it worked, it worked, it worked!” Draco laughed, holding his hand up so that its light shone above him like a halo.

“Now you’ll have to undo it, using _Nox,”_ Theo said, and Draco groaned.

***

Five minutes later, Theo had guided him through duplicating the effects of _Nox_ wandlessly, much like he had with _Lumos,_ and Draco was extremely pleased with himself.

“What else can we do?” he asked, wriggling around, unable to lie still. He couldn’t remember being this excited about anything, this eager for future possibilities. “I mean, this is unprecedented.” _Even Ancient Wizards didn’t have as much control over their wandless magic as me and Theo do now, and since the Pulse didn't take away our ability to use wands, we can have the best of both worlds._

“I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but the Pulse—whatever it is—made us the most powerful generation in history. ” Theo’s eyes gleamed. “I’m not sure what our limits are yet. It’s possible that we can only do so many wandless spells before exhausting our internal magical supply either permanently or temporarily, but that’ll require more testing, more—”

“What’re you going to teach me next?” Draco interrupted. If he had to host Theo for an entire month, he might as well get something out of it.

“Basic dueling spells would be the most useful for you, I think. _Expelliarmus_ and _Ventus_ are ones you already know how to do, and you might have better luck with _Protego_ without a wand.”

“Hmm. Sounds boring.

“You have to start small, you know!” Theo said indignantly, rolling over on the bed so he could glare Draco in the face.

“But _you’re_ not starting small, clearly,” Draco retorted. “So what are you going to be working on next? Bet it’s not going to be something as boring as _Expelliarmus._ ”

After a long and nervous pause, Theo said, “I want to try to Apparate without a wand, to see if I can bypass Apparition wards that way.”

“But you don’t even know how to Apparate _with_ a wand,” Draco pointed out. “Why do you want to bypass wards, anyway? To get into Hogwarts? The Ministry?”

“No, not those.” Theo was silent for at least half a minute, and Draco fidgeted, annoyed with all the secrecy. “Well, it’s a long story, really. I told you about my mother’s summer estate in France, right? Seacastle, she called it.”

Draco cocked his head. Theo had mentioned his late mother once or twice, insisting that she’d left behind a message for him in their long-forgotten summer home. Draco, many years ago, had promised to accompany him there to check, but Mr. Nott had apparently blocked off all access to it. None of the Notts had stepped foot there in years.

“My father won’t let me or my brothers in,” Theo said, “so I thought, if there was a way I could get around the wards he put up, and our new wandless magic works differently, so maybe wandless Apparition would let me in… ” Theo trailed off, sheepish. “I mean, I’ve almost forgotten what she looks like, and I… I just want to see something of hers. I figure it’s worth a try.”

“Oh.” Draco frowned. That was a rather less exciting reason than he’d expected. “Wait, why’ve you almost forgotten what she looked like? Don’t you have pictures of her?”

Theo shook his head. “Father… didn’t want to keep them after her death. Also, Sebastian burned the last one I had.”

Draco winced.

Theo hesitated for a second before continuing, watching Draco’s expression carefully. “But there must be some at Seacastle. Draco, would you go with me? If I manage to get past the wards, I mean—and it’ll be in a long time, so I’m not even sure why it matters right now. I want to try Apparating with a wand first, but I think I’m going to try to learn that this year or next year, maybe I could hire a tutor during the holidays or something—”

“Stop rambling, will you?” Draco said irritably. “I promised you years ago that I would, remember?”

Theo’s breath hitched. “Oh. You remember that. I thought… last summer, when you hated me, I thought you wouldn’t go.”

“Well, to be fair, you were a pain in the arse last year,” Draco said. “But hypothetically, I still would’ve gone if you’d asked.” Something had always intrigued him about Seacastle. If Theo was right and nobody had stepped foot in there for nearly a decade, the place had gone untouched all these years. So perhaps what fascinated Draco so much was the prospect of seeing back in time, glimpsing a snapshot of Theo’s life before Beatrice Nott had died, before Mr. Nott had ruined the twins’ faces.

If the twins had never been disfigured in the first place, Draco wouldn’t have rejected them. He often wondered what would’ve been different about his life if he’d accepted the twins’ offer of friendship instead of spurning them, calling them ugly and disgusting and bringing them to tears.

The door swung open just then, and Draco froze, suddenly aware of how close he and Theo lay on the bed. His mother walked in, followed by Dobby and Emsy carrying trays laden with dishes. “Boys? I’m here with lunch—Oh?” Amusement flickered over Narcissa’s face as she took in their positions. “Did I interrupt something?”

Theo shot upright, looking as though he would die of embarrassment. Half of his hair was sticking up like he’d been hit by a lightning spell. “Sorry, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“What ever for?” Narcissa asked as Dobby and Emsy arranged the trays on the boys’ laps. “Honestly, Theodore, if you ever wish to court Draco, you have my blessing. But be warned, I expect no fewer than three grandchildren.”

 _“MOTHER!”_ Draco wailed, nearly upturning his tray in horror.

***

Harry tossed and turned under his blankets, seething. “It’s already been two fucking weeks! How long is Nott going to be living with you?”

Draco gave a long-suffering sigh on the other end of the Thread Sphere. “I told you that he’ll be here for a month. It’s not a big deal. I can still secretly talk to you at night before bed. He doesn’t sleep in the same room as me, you know.”

Harry fumed some more.

His glee at getting back his old powers hadn’t lasted long. The next day, he'd read the papers and learned that his situation wasn't unique: every wizard under the age of seventeen now had the ability to wield their magic without needing a wand to channel it—and Draco, worsening Harry’s mood, suspected that these new abilities had everything to do with Chaos, which could lead to nothing good.

On the bright side, this meant that Harry could do magic during the summer holidays, an activity previously forbidden for all but Elite students. In the chaos following the Pulse, the Ministry hadn’t been able to establish any new rules or figure out how to stop non-Elite children from practicing wandless—and therefore un-Traceable—magic. But he couldn't even indulge in this new freedom with unfettered joy because of _motherfucking Theodore Nott_. From what Harry had surmised from Draco’s guilty tone, he and Theo were spending all day together practicing wandless spells, only to part company late at night, and this knowledge was slowly driving Harry mad.

“Look, since I’m the host, it’d be rude for me not to spend the whole day with him,” Draco said, almost as if he could hear what Harry was thinking. “Stop whining.”

“Nott tried to _kill_ me on Samhain, if you don’t remember!” Harry was pretty sure he’d yelled this to Draco about fifty times in the last two years, but it was a rather compelling argument, if he said so himself.

“That was in first year,” Draco replied patiently. “And he was trying to ‘punish’ you, not kill you. And he was just jealous that you and me were getting to be friends. He’s gotten over it by now—he knew about our friendship all of last year, and he didn’t do anything, did he? He even helped you before the final exam.”

If Nott had actually “gotten over it” as Draco claimed, Harry would eat his own arm. _I bet Nott only helped me before the final exam so he could earn Draco’s trust. He’s playing the long game, plotting something evil._

“He’s Sebastian Nott’s little brother,” Harry continued with a sneer. “That entire family is rotten.”

“He hates his family,” Draco muttered. “Look, I don’t really like him either. But I have to tolerate him, and he’s not so bad anymore, not really.”

Harry’s voice shook with rage. “I just… it’s not _fair._ He gets to live at your house for a month, and you don’t have to hide the fact that you’re talking to him from your parents, when I’m the one who—”

_I’m the one who saved you._

“It’s not fair,” Harry repeated miserably.

“Well, what do you expect me to do about it?” Draco hissed. “Invite you to the Malfoy Manor during the summer and Christmas holidays? Do you really think my father will let a half-blood step foot into our ancient family home? It’s a miracle he hasn’t found out about us yet when literally everyone at Hogwarts knows by now.”

Harry laughed nastily. “Guess I’m not your dirty little secret anymore, am I? You might as well tell your father, since he'll find out soon enough anyway. Goodnight, Draco. Enjoy spending tomorrow practicing wandless dueling with _Theo._ ” He moved to turn off the Sphere, but Draco’s snarl stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh, shut _up._ Stop acting like a jealous little bitch all the time. It was funny at first, but now it’s getting old. Theo barely means anything to me. He’s a sniveling coward, and he’ll never stop being a coward, and he’ll never stand up to Sebastian or anyone else to help me. He’s not going to replace you, Harry. Nobody can replace you.”

The Sphere powered down. Harry’s throat had gone parched at some point during Draco’s rant, and he ached for a glass of water. Still, a grin spread across his face, his nerves eased.

_Nobody can replace you._

For the past couple weeks Harry had been wandering around in a cranky daze, bitter fury bubbling over every time Draco mentioned Theo on the Thread Spheres, or every time Harry thought about Draco and Theo spending an entire month together. But somehow, Draco had managed to insult Harry and say the one thing he needed to hear most, all in one breath.

Quietly, he slipped out of bed and padded down the stairs to get that glass of water, his thoughts still on Draco. Harry wished it were September already. He wanted to see Draco so badly that it _hurt._

“This situation is spiraling out of control, Lily,” came a hiss from downstairs, ending Harry’s train of thought. He paused halfway down the stairs, holding his breath.

Why was Snape here so late at night?

“The test results are conclusive,” Snape continued. “The Dark Lord can no longer deny it. Underage wizards now have the capability to consume the magic of wizards they kill, just like the Dark Lord himself does.”

Lily’s breath caught, and Harry gripped the banister, eyes wide. There was a clink of cutlery; perhaps she and Snape were having some late-night tea.

“All right. Why are you telling me this?” Lily asked.

“We cannot keep this a secret for much longer, and we cannot prevent the children from turning each and every magical school in the world into a bloodbath. The Dark Lord is alarmed but not entirely opposed to this new era of wizards; he is confident in his own power and believes that he could use a stronger army, and is certain that those who devoted to him will remain the kings at their respective schools, but I know that this situation is unsustainable. Once they discover the truth, the most ambitious Skulls will at once set their sights on acquiring more magical power, the population of Hogwarts will consequently be decimated, and the boy will be in the midst of it all.”

“Harry can take care of himself,” Lily said. “He can do wandless magic again, and it smells terrible. I can barely breathe when he’s in the same room as me. At least as he’s not as powerful as he once was.”

“That he cannot survive,” said Snape delicately, “was not my point.”

“Then… what?” Lily sounded distracted, scattered. She probably wasn’t in the right state of mind for a political discussion with Snape.

“We both know what that boy is. The Dark Lord—”

Lily interrupted with a laugh, a nasty one. “Harry doesn’t have all that magic anymore, Sev. He didn’t tell me how he lost it, but I know that the devils took it away. What could the Dark Lord want with him?”

“The boy now has the means to regain all the magic he lost—”

“So does every other wizard child in the world. The Dark Lord will have to figure out which one’s the biggest threat to him, and I doubt any of them are,” said Lily dismissively. “And if Harry does grow powerful again, smother his aura again with that spell. It wore off after he lost his magic.”

 _Aura?_ Harry flinched in remembrance. Two years ago, before Samhain, Harry had overheard Dolohov saying to Headmaster Rowle, “ _A Colossus’s power shines like a beacon; something must be blocking the signals, which is why it survived for so long and why nobody felt its aura.”_

“The spell cannot be reapplied,” Snape replied testily. “And we both know the boy is not a normal human wizard, even if he no longer has all the magic he was born with. It is possible that the Dark Lord may be able to sense him more as time passes, and then he will know that we have been hiding his enemy in plain sight all these years. Mark my words, Lily, the Dark Lord does not think other wizarding children are a threat to him—he only fears the Colossus. It must be because he believes that the boy carries some additional power that can destroy him. I do not know what it is, but I know it exists.”

For some reason, Lily laughed.

Snape was unamused. “If the Dark Lord discovers my treachery, we may have to leave the boy and flee the country. I hold no ill-will towards him, but I also have no intention of sacrificing you for a demon child, and still do not understand why you begged me to keep him alive. You care as little for him as I do.”

“He looks like James, and _my_ Harry. My real Harry,” said Lily, without missing a beat. “Sometimes, I think he could be the same boy.”

There was a long pause, so long that Harry lost faith that Snape would ever reply. Then, at last, he said, “I have a safe house in America—deep in rural Vermont. The Dark Lord is unaware of it. If need be, I will send you a Patronus, and you will be ready to leave via our special Portkey at a moment’s notice. He may kill me through the Dark Mark, but he will never find you.”

Lily hummed and didn’t answer. Snape sighed, perhaps coming to terms with the fact that this was the most conversation he was going to get out of her today. And Harry, meanwhile, crept back up the stairs, shaking from head to foot. _So Snape was the one who protected me from the Dark Lord, even though he doesn’t give a shit about me. Surprise, surprise._

Harry flung himself back onto his bed, panting as though he’d just run a marathon. He’d wait until Lily and Snape were done with their tea party, and then he’d go get his drink of water.

 _But first…_ he couldn’t keep silent on this. What did it all mean? That he wasn’t the only Colossus anymore? Could other wizarding children hold unlimited magical power now? Could _Sebastian?_ Harry picked up the Thread Sphere—still warm from their last conversation—and called Draco.

“If you’re calling to apologize for your childish whining earlier,” Draco said in a snotty voice, “then I accept your apology.”

“Uh, right,” Harry said. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

Draco huffed out a breath, and Harry could almost see him crossing his arms and pouting. “That’s not why you called me, is it?”

“You’ll never believe what I just heard,” Harry said, and Draco’s irritation melted away into shell-shocked horror as Harry relayed Snape’s words to him.

“Father got back late tonight,” Draco said after a long silence, so quietly that Harry could barely hear him. “He wasn’t here for dinner, and he didn’t talk to me after he came back. He barely even talked to Mother. I think both he and Snape were at the same place, with all the other Inner Circle Death Eaters, and they learned about this at the same time.”

“Snape sounded worried as hell, so it probably wasn’t a happy meeting.” Harry bounced on his bed, quivering in excitement. “They’re probably freaking out about how they’re going to control us dirty-bloods now that we can become more powerful than them.”

“Stop sounding so happy, you _idiot._ This is so, so bad,” Draco said in a shrill voice. “What the actual fuck do you think Sebastian will do once he realizes this? He doesn’t go a month without murdering some random dirty-blood, and he _will_ figure out he’s getting more powerful the more he kills. We’re _so_ dead _,_ Harry! If wizards can steal magic the magic of wizards they kill, then Sebastian will be unstoppable!”

“You’re not wrong, but you forgot something,” Harry said.

 _“What?_ What did I forget, Harry?” Draco snarled.

“If Sebastian can get more powerful,” Harry said, a grin spreading across his face, “then so can I.”


End file.
